My hand reaches my neck to fiddle with the small cross hanging from its dainty chain. Pulling the pendant from side to side, I feel the sharp pokes from the twisted gold. The cross hanging around my neck has been mine for as long as I can remember. The necklace kept me connected with my Catholic Filipino family. We went to church every Sunday and prayed before doing literally anything. Praying before we ate, showered, or went to bed was routine; I couldn’t do anything without praying first. Being so involved in our faith, having a cross necklace was nothing unusual. Everyone I knew had their own and I would not be an exception. The minuscule golden cross of my necklace hung delicately from the thin chain. The gold was woven so beautifully together, resembling a silky braid. I was gifted my necklace by my father about a year before he passed. His death was the catalyst for the end of my faith. While he was in the hospital, I prayed and prayed until my head was filled with nothing but my pleading words for God. Until my father’s last breath, until his heart stopped and the monotonous beep filled the room, I prayed. The cross weighed heavily around my neck. I hauled around the utter betrayal of my rejected prayers until It became too much for me to bear. My beloved necklace finally left its spot on my neck where it wouldn’t return to until now. Having it with me again makes me feel complete. As I reach up to play with the necklace again, I feel his spirit come alive in my heart.

– Shanna Damaso

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant